Cold
by Shinbi
Summary: Some of us will pay the ultimate price.
1. Shattered

**COLD**

**By: shinbi**

**Note: A time-relevant piece**

The phone was in his hand, the voice on the other end distant and unfamiliar, reaching his ear from some other place, speaking words he understood but couldn't comprehend.

"_In tonight's Big Ten clash, Minnesota's sophomore star forward, Adam Banks, scored a hat trick in the Golden Gopher's 4-1 victory over Michigan. The Edina native now sits atop the scoring standings with 25 goals in 12 games. NHL scouts—"_

_Adam Banks reached over and flicked off the car radio, shaking his head. Next to him, Charlie Conway made a noise of protest._

"_Dude, I was listening to that!" He reached for the radio dial, but Adam swatted his hand away._

"_I don't want to hear about NHL scouts and all that," he told his friend. Charlie drummed his fingers across the steering wheel, waiting for the light in front of him to change._

"_Why?" Adam shifted in his seat, staring out at the snow-covered landscape around them._

"_I'm not just some dumb jock who wants to make money and stuff," he said after a moment, "I don't want them to perceive me like just another dumb kid after millions." Charlie stepped gently on the gas as the light turned green, feeling the wheels spin a little on the icy road._

"_Just do your thing, Adam. Your actions'll speak for you."_

__

He was holding onto the counter for support, his hand gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles hurt. The world seemed to be spinning around him, a blur of color and light, words and memories making him dizzy.

"_Today, December 1st, the President of the United States has just given the order to reinstate the draft. All men ages 18 to 24 are eligible and expected to serve. Those who are 20 years old this year or will turn 20 this year will be the first selected. A random birth date lottery will decide the order. After 20 year olds, the order is as follows: 21 year olds, 22 year olds, 23 year olds, 24 year olds, 18 year olds, 19 year olds."_

_As the TV camera panned away from the official looking figure on the screen, Adam's bag fell from his shoulder and Charlie had to grab the back of one of the sofas to keep his balance. Around them, people were shouting, swearing, crying, but all Charlie was aware of was Adam's hand on his shoulder, gripping it so hard he almost winced._

"_Charlie, I turn 20 in two weeks."_

__

"Mr. Conway?"

"Yes?"

"_December 15th."_

"_Jesus Christ." Adam reeled back from where he was standing, watching the TV, his hands balling into fists. Charlie reached for him helplessly, knowing there was nothing he could do._

"_Adam." He grabbed his friend's shoulder, pulling him back. Adam wrenched free, but Charlie was quicker._

"_Adam." And then Charlie's arms were around him as he collapsed in on himself, his face crumpling into a grimace. Charlie held him tightly, holding him up, his own tears burning his eyes. Around them, their dormmates offered words of encouragement and support, but Charlie was sure Adam couldn't hear them._

"_I'm going to fucking war," Adam muttered, pulling away from his friend, "I'm going to fucking war."_

__

"Mr. Conway, I'm Dean Larson from the Administration Department here at the university."

"Yes?"

"_Charlie?"_

"_Adam? Jesus Christ...it's been forever."_

"_I know, man."_

"_How are you? Are you okay?"_

"_Yeah, dude. I'm okay. I'm surviving as best I can."_

"_God...you know all we hear about here is how many kids are dying over there every day."_

"_I know, Charlie. And they don't even report how many people are hurt, do they?"_

"_No."_

"_Christ, Charlie, it's awful. The shit I see here, every day...I can't believe it's all happening. I can't believe I'm here."_

"_Adam..."_

"_What's up, dude?"_

"_Adam, you gotta come back, alright?"_

"_I...Charlie, you know what it's like over here?"_

"_Yeah, I know. I know people are dying every day, but damn it, Adam, you're my best friend. Can't I be selfish when it comes to my best friend? I don't want you to fucking die."_

"_I don't either, Charlie."_

"_Look, Adam...please, take care of yourself. I can't watch my best friend come home in a box."_

"_Okay. I'll do what I can."_

"_Adam..."_

"_Charlie, it's all I got. We're in a fucking war...people die every day."_

"_I know...just please, please...be careful."_

"_I will."_

__

"Mr. Conway, I'm calling you with some very sad news."

_The sun was warm on Adam's face as the humvee he was in trundled slowly through the streets. It was early morning, so there weren't many people out. Less threats, less things to keep an eye on. A few little kids waved from the side of the road, and Adam, in as good a mood as one can be in a war, waved back._

_Then the world seemed to explode around him, stars and light flashing in his vision. Darkness interspersed with color, and his mind registered a blinding, crushing pain in his torso. And then there was nothing. _

The phone was in his hand, the voice on the other end distant and unfamiliar, reaching his ear from some other place, speaking words he understood but couldn't comprehend.

"I'm sorry Mr. Conway, but yesterday, your roommate, Adam Banks, was killed by an enemy mortar attack."


	2. Remember

"_Tonight, the Gophers will take the ice against Oregon, in the first NCAA match since the draft was reinstated exactly one year ago today. Both team's rosters have been reduced in number because of the draft, and both teams have lost players in the conflict overseas. Before the game tonight, the names of those men who have died overseas will be read, and a moment of silence taken. This year, all athletes in NCAA competition will wear black armbands on their sleeves as reminders—"_

Charlie reached over and flicked off the radio, preferring to drive in silence rather than listen to the media talk about the significance of tonight's game. Around him, snow blanketed the landscape, fresh fallen, pure white, pristine. Soon, it would become slushy and gray with sand and salt, but for now, it was untouched, undisturbed.

Mariucci Arena loomed in the distance, a large brick building, unmoved by years in the Minnesota cold. Charlie parked his car in one of the far lots, grabbed his bag from the trunk, and started walking. He had an hour before he needed to be on the ice for warm ups, and he really didn't mind the cold.

Tonight, there would be a brief ceremony before the game to remember those who had died overseas. Minnesota's roster had been thinned dramatically by the draft, and everyone on the team had felt the losses. Adam was not the only one to pay the ultimate price.

_When Charlie saw the coffin, he couldn't hold it in anymore. The grief hit him like a tidal wave, rushing over him, cutting him down, taking his breath away. He crouched down in front of the casket, sobbing uncontrollably. He was 20 years old. He wasn't supposed to be saying goodbye to his best friend. They still had so many years to go. His heart felt like it was breaking in two, his insides like they were being torn apart. He felt hands on his shoulders, heard voices around him, but they were of no comfort. Adam would never be there again, nagging him to clean up his side of the dorm, teasing him about flubbed passes, scoring two goals a game, topping the NCAA scoring standings. Adam was gone. He wasn't coming back._

"Adam Banks." Charlie took a deep breath and skated out to center ice, Adam's jersey tucked protectively in his arms. The arena was silent, except for the soft scrape of his skates against the smooth ice. With extra care, he unfolded the jersey in his arms and laid it on the ice, the number 9 and "Banks" facing up toward heaven. Feeling something clench hard inside his chest, Charlie touched the black armband on his sleeve, then reached his fingers to the ice. A single tear slipped down his cheek and fell on the frozen surface beneath his fingertips. The silence around him was deafening. Get up, he told himself, you have to. You have to get up. You have to keep going.

_The flag over Adam's casket was folded and handed to Adam's mother, and Charlie, cheeks already streaked with tears, bowed his head again. It was too much. The finality, the brutality, the reality of it all. He couldn't imagine it, couldn't imagine turning around and not seeing Adam there, after so many years of playing first line with him. He couldn't imagine walking into the dorm and not being greeted by his best friend. He couldn't imagine living like this. _

_They lowered the casket into the ground, and Charlie felt like someone was stabbing him in the heart. How could this be real?_

The pass was perfect, and Charlie's body reacted faster than he could think. Pulling back just slightly on his sprint, he took a quick glance at the net, picked his spot and returned his attention to the ice. His shot was like an arrow, straight and true, clanging against the post and rippling the back of the net. The arena around him seemed to explode with noise, and he wheeled around, unbelievably happy and gut-wrenchingly grief stricken at the same time. So he did the only thing that made sense at the moment: he raised his hand to the heavens, a single finger pointed skyward, as if tracing the trajectory his friend's spirit had taken months ago.

_This one's for you, Adam._


End file.
